


Time with the Turners: A Series of One Shots

by BBCShipper



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M, Turnadette - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-04-04 06:18:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14014017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BBCShipper/pseuds/BBCShipper
Summary: Some one-shots/prompt inspired stories, most all of which will probably surround Turnadette, though that may change.  May range from G-T





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : I own nothing.
> 
>  **Prompt 1** : "I'm homesick for a place that I'm not even sure exists" from writing-prompt-s on Tumblr.  
> Thanks to lovetheturners for the beta

Sister Bernadette lay awake in her cell praying. She knew she should be sleeping. After all, it was only three hours until she would be awakened for Lauds and then another day on call would begin. But she could not stop her mind from turning, ever turning back to that smile… that face which dogged her dreams of late. And rather than dwell on what she could not have, what she knew she should not want to have, every time his face surfaced in her mind, she would pray.

She had been praying a lot lately.

She prayed over her confusion. She prayed over her doubt. She prayed for forgiveness of her vanity – why did she care so much about what her hair looked like, no one would see it? Why did she care that the nurses loved her new glasses? Why did she wish a certain doctor would notice them? She prayed and prayed and prayed.

And yet, his face, that lopsided grin, the unruly bit of hair falling into his eyes, those eyes that held grief and joy, sadness and love, kept reasserting itself in her mind's eye. "Forgive me, Lord…" she whispered softly, "I don't know what to do!"

There was his face again. It was becoming more and more insistent of its presence in her mind. It grew handsomer by the day and Sister Bernadette had no way to stop it. It just kept coming back: his smile, his hair, his eyes, his muscular forearms… she gasped, suddenly breathless. _That_ picture was a new one. She felt the need to sit up in the bed, attempting the shake away the image from her mind and regain air into her lungs. Why had she never noticed those forearms before?

The prayers began again. They continued another hour until Sister Bernadette was finally exhausted enough to sleep. The prayers persisted as she spent the day with Dr. Turner on the x-ray van, increasing as he gave her that loving smile. When Dr. Turner broke the news of the TB found in her lungs, she thought that the prayers might finally shift away from this man toward something else – shouldn't she begin to pray for her physical healing now? Instead, the prayers took on a desperate tone in her mind as she stood with her habit unbuttoned and he slipped his stethoscope just below the top of her slip. He never touched her skin, but he didn't have to. Her mind was filled only with images of him, of what it would feel like if he had touched her or if he had held her in his arms the way she desperately wanted him to.

Sister Bernadette didn't sleep that night. She was not at all surprised. "What do I do now? What happens next?" she prayed fervently, seeking answers from a God who had seemed to grow silent lately. "I feel lost and confused. It's like I'm homesick for a place that I'm not even sure exists! How could it exist? I am a nun, I have taken a vow, I have made a commitment to my sisters… how could any other place be home?" Yet even as she prayed those words and that man appeared in her mind again, she knew she wanted to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story explores the difficulties Shelagh _must_ have faced going back to work so soon after Teddy's birth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was born out of discussions on this topic with @tangledupinmist
> 
> Please note that each of these chapters is a separate story, I just wanted a central location for my one-shot Turnadette stories.  
>  **Disclaimer** : I do not own these characters.

Shelagh stood in front of her bedroom mirror, examining the imprints left on her skin from where her girdle had been. She had released such a sigh of relief when she had arrived home, finally able to remove the restricting garment which dug into her skin. As her fingers trailed the nasty red lines, she couldn’t help but laugh at the words she had spoken to Sister Julienne not 24 hours before tugging the offending garment on.

“I’m not quite ready to get back into my girdle yet,” she had informed the woman. She had meant it too, looking down at her sweet miracle’s face. This bundle in her arms was perfect with his round cheeks and beautiful baby blue eyes – Shelagh had no intention of putting him down any time soon, much less becoming distracted by any form of work.

So what had changed? How had she wound up here? It’s true that Teddy had been quite the easy-going newborn, falling right into the schedule Shelagh diligently set from day one. It seems that he had inherited his mother’s temperament in that regard, finding calm in order and routine. So much so that she had even been able to make home life quite normal again, even fixing Scotch pancakes for breakfast while the newborn slept peacefully. But despite Teddy being the perfect baby, or perhaps because of it, she had not wanted to let him go just yet. So why was she standing here, rubbing her tender flesh that should not have been subjected to such restriction so soon after giving birth?

The answer to that was easy of course: because she loved Patrick more than life itself and it pained her more to hear the exasperation in his voice than to tug that garment onto her hips. He needed her, and for more than just filing and organizing, because she knew Sister Julienne could handle that. One look at Patrick’s face as she entered his office proved she was right, he was exhausted and overwhelmed. Even though Mr. Tillerson’s death had not been his fault, Shelagh knew he took each death to heart and hated when there was nothing he could do. He needed her to share the burden with, his partner in work just as they were partners in every other aspect of life.

This snow, and with it the feeling of a constant state of emergency, could not last forever she reasoned, and so for the moment she would put down Teddy to stand beside the man she adored.

******

Shelagh stood in front of the mirror again, the lines upon her skin not cutting quite as deep as they had before, but still glaringly present. She had gotten more adept at pulling it on, but it was still far too tight; it was still too soon for her to be back at work. Yet back at work she was, for how long now she couldn’t even say. The days had run together… had it been days or was it weeks? This snow and cold was lasting too long for anyone’s comfort. Well, except maybe for Angela’s, who was quite enjoying dragging her big brother outside into the snow for endless hours of building snowmen together.

A tender whimper from the foot of the bed caught her attention as Teddy alerted her to the time. He really did love schedules as much as she did. Shelagh picked him up and carried him to the bed to nurse, thankful she didn’t have to maneuver any clothing as she had not yet finished changing. She ran over in her mind the meal she would prepare for the family when he was finished. As he finished the first side, she looked tenderly into his face before burping him and shifting him over to her other breast. Suddenly, and for a reason Shelagh couldn’t quite explain, she started to cry. It was just a single tear at first, marveling at the beauty of her son, at the beauty of the miracle God had provided her. But that single tear of love and thankfulness soon turned into a watershed of tears she could not seem to stop. So accustomed to his routine and oblivious to his mother’s emotions, Teddy fell fast asleep again as soon as he finished his meal and she gently placed him back in his cot, her body still shaking with sobs.

Despite the need to go downstairs to tend to the rest of the family, Shelagh sat back down upon the bed, her face in her hands, trying unsuccessfully to stifle the steady stream of tears once more. It was in that position that Patrick found her when he returned home. After praising Timothy and Angela’s third snowman of the day, he had gone straight inside to the kitchen to find and praise Shelagh for her continued help at the surgery. Confused by the lack of her presence in the kitchen, he had gone upstairs quickly, taking the steps two at a time when he began to hear her cries. There she was, undressed and sobbing on the bed, her hair unpinned and looking the most pitiful he had ever seen her. Sorrow filled his heart for the pain he saw before him.

Hearing him enter the room caused Shelagh to stiffen, but still the weeping continued. Patrick crossed the room quickly, sitting beside her upon the bed and drawing her into a comforting embrace. She buried her face into his chest as he ran his fingers through her hair softly. His presence soothed her in a way she had been unable to soothe herself and soon her sobs changed into gentle tears once more. Feeling her calm, Patrick softly asked what had happened.

Straightening up, Shelagh began to speak, slowly at first, as she worked through the process in her mind that had led to the tears. “Teddy is so wonderful,” she started, peering down the bed to his sleeping frame, willing herself to slow her breathing to match the pace she saw his tiny chest rising and falling. “I was thanking God for His gift to us, for our tiny miracle… and I guess I began to feel guilty for putting him down.” Shelagh looked down at the fingers she was fiddling in her lap, not wanting to look into Patrick’s face for fear of breaking down again.

“Shelagh, do you want to stop coming into the surgery? I can manage if you want to call… what’s-her-name with the glasses back.”

“Mrs. Plimpton,” Shelagh provided quietly, “And no, I don’t want to call her back. That’s why I felt so guilty – because as much as I don’t ever want to put Teddy down, I cannot deny that I have loved being back at work with you. I feel a fulfilment of my calling when I am there, a thrill and a love that only comes through my work. I love being near you all day, sharing lunch with you. I love helping the people of Poplar. I love seeing Sister Julienne and my friends. It’s a part of who I am and I don’t want to walk away from that, it’s just…”

“You want to enjoy being a mother too,” Patrick stated simply.

“We waited so long for him, Patrick! How can I possibly enjoy putting him down to sleep in his pram so I can go about working and ignoring him? What kind of mother does it make me? I feel so torn between two worlds in a way more tortuous than it was the first time. Before, I was choosing between my calling as a nurse/nun and an uncertainty, not knowing what a life with you would be. But now I’m having to choose between that same calling to nursing and this certainty, this dream come true that I don’t want to miss a moment of. My dream is once again becoming a nightmare.”

Patrick hugged her close, tightening his grip on Shelagh almost so much that she couldn’t breathe, needing to pour every ounce of reassurance he had into her in that moment. “You are a wonderful mother. You are the best midwife I’ve ever seen. Your ‘little bit of pre-planning’ and organization has somehow managed to get a family of five, with an infant no less, on time everywhere for a week. I know you said that if you don’t do too much, not enough gets done, but you are asking too much of yourself. You did just give birth, after all, so much is still...”

Sitting back up again, Shelagh cut Patrick off and looked deep into his eyes, piercing him with her gaze. “If you mention postpartum hormones to me, you’re sleeping with Timothy tonight.”

Patrick couldn’t help but laugh, relieved knowing Shelagh was relaxing enough to joke with him. The tension beginning to ease, he felt more comfortable asking, “So what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know, but I know I want to remain at work. I can be a mother and a nurse, I know I can. We will think of something. For now, however, I’d better put some clothes on and get some food on the table for poor Timothy before he complains that we’re trying to starve him, or worse, he finds us and thinks we’re up to mushy stuff!”

******  
The next morning, Shelagh was ecstatic as she read through the newspaper. There before her was her answer, the perfect answer really, as it meant not only would she get help but she could help another in return. _Yes_ , she thought to herself, _this is perfect. We’re getting an Au Pair._


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** This story was inspired by a statement on Tumblr from @thatginchygal along the lines that her ideal Turnadette fic would combine how Nonnatus found out about them, hair play, and smut. This is my first real foray into the world of smut, and I do greatly appreciate the beta from ginchy as well. The first portion is totally smut-free, so you can safely read the 'how Nonnatus found out' portion and then leave if smut's not your thing. But things definitely go canon-divergent after the second break, when Patrick  & Shelagh are alone. Normally I like to stay canon-compliant, but finding out + smut is pretty impossible to do that way. It won't hurt my feelings at all if you want to skip this one.
> 
>  
> 
> **Please note: This particular story is M rated**

“Take it back!” Timothy shouted, face turning an angry shade of red as the other boy ran in circles away from him, “I said, Take it back!”

“Why should I? We don’t know for sure! It’s not like your dad is ever home to check!” the other boy taunted, as two others nodded their heads in agreement.

“I don’t have nits! My… I… my…” Tim began to stumble over his words, quickly realizing that not only was he expressly told not to say anything to anyone yet, but even if he was allowed, he wouldn’t know how to describe her yet. “I was checked yesterday afternoon!” he lamely finished.

Clearly the other boys didn’t buy his story, his stammering and shifty gaze leading them to the conclusion that obviously he was lying. One of the smaller boys piped up, “You couldn’t have been! Your dad was at my neighbor’s flat yesterday; she was screaming something awful!”

Timothy’s face continued to redden and he scrunched up his face in determination, he would not be called a liar. Rationalizing to himself that the defense of his honor among his classmates was reason enough to break his promise not to tell anyone anything about the events of the previous few days, and that likely this rule was not going to be a rule much longer, Tim shouted much too loudly “I’m not a liar! I was checked by my new mum!”

The proclamation caused all to stop dead in their tracks, including the two nurses passing around the corner on their bikes as they returned to Nonnatus House. Nurses Lee and Franklin exchanged confused glances, both reassuring the other that yes, that really was Timothy Turner who proclaimed he had a new mother. “He must be pretending,” Trixie spoke, looking with pity upon the poor boy who had dealt with so much over the previous two years. His mother’s illness had shaken him to the core, and her death left him alone with only an unkempt doctor who was gone at all hours to care for him. “Dr. Turner cannot have been seeing anyone without us knowing, all he ever does is work. The poor boy wants a mum so bad he’s inventing one.”

The two walked with their bikes closer to where Timothy stood with his back to them, not wanting to startle the boy or make him think he was in trouble for his outburst, but stopped short as he continued to speak, spurred on by the unbelieving looks he was being given by his friends.

“She did, she checked my whole head yesterday! Not a single nit,” he started to press on with his defense when the realization hit that it was no longer his proclamation of being free of headlice that they did not believe, “they’re not married yet, but she is going to be my mum. We asked her day before yesterday and she said yes! I helped him ask!”

“Really, a new mum? What’s she like?” “I bet she’s going to be evil to you like that stepmother in Cinderella” “Yeah, does she have mean kids too?” all the boy’s questions seemed to overlap at once.

“No! No! She’s not mean and she never will be! I don’t think she’s ever been mean a day in her life!” Tim felt proud to rush to the defense of Shelagh now, feeling every bit the gallant knight of fairy tales. “She is funny and kind and helps me with my homework - she even helped me get a post-mortem on a dead butterfly so we could determine the cause of death! She’s the coolest person I’ve ever met.”

As Tim continued, Trixie felt a weight drop in her stomach, the mention of a dead butterfly bringing memories of a visit to the sanatorium to the front of her mind, “what’s your new mum’s name, Timothy?”

Tim spun around, startled by the voice of the nurse behind him, and his face, which had finally returned to its normal shade, colored again with the blush of shame that he had outed his parent’s secret. “Shelagh…” he whispered.

“I don’t know anyone by the name of Sheila, do you?” Jenny directed a quizzical gaze at Trixie, who looked just as perplexed as she, which in turn seemed to confuse Timothy all the more.

“What do you mean?” Tim asked, highly confused as to why two women she had lived with for years wouldn’t know who she was, “you know, Shelagh… Sister Bernadette!”

The boy jumped with fright at the metal clanging of Nurse Lee’s bike hitting the pavement, but it was the next sound that made his face lose all its color - “Timothy,” the voice of his father saying his name with such forced calmness terrified him to his core, “get in the car. We’re going home.”

He wasn’t sure what exactly transpired between his dad and the nurses in that moment, he had never jumped in his father’s MG faster in his life, but surely that wasn’t squealing and giggling he heard? Pure shock had covered Nurse Lee’s face and his father had been livid with him, so the cacophony of laughter he thought he heard as he slammed the door could not have been real.

As his father eased behind the wheel, Timothy thought he saw the faintest of smiles playing across his father’s lips, but any trace of it disappeared when he offered a heartfelt “sorry.”

******

Knuckles turning white, Patrick gripped the steering wheel tightly, so many emotions at war within him. Joy was prevalent these last two days since he was officially assured of Shelagh’s love for him by the simple ring she wore upon her finger. There was relief, his meeting with Sister Julienne had gone well - he had worried that she would be upset at the news of their engagement, that she would be mad because he didn’t speak to her first or that she might be carrying residual anger at him for Shelagh leaving the order. But Sister Julienne had seemed genuinely happy for them, almost relieved that Shelagh had figured out her place in the world.

And yet all that joy and peace was marred with anger at Timothy for breaking his promise. But for all the disappointment he felt with his son, it was hard to stay mad when the nurses had expressed so much happiness for the couple. Trixie hugged him tightly, which had taken him by surprise and they both begged him to send their love to Shelagh, expressing their joy over and over again, proclaiming how much she deserved happiness and how wonderful she was and all those things Patrick had known deep within his soul for far longer than he should have.

Looking over at his son and hearing that faint apology reminded him of the broken promise that had taken Shelagh’s control over the announcement away. He hoped she wouldn’t be too angry, but he would understand if she were. Patrick decided it was best to stay silent until he had relayed the events of the afternoon to Shelagh and calmed down with a cigarette or three.

******

With a contented sigh, Patrick leaned back against Shelagh’s chest, “are you sure you’re okay?” he asked for the hundredth time that evening, though for the first since Tim had gone to bed. Perhaps now she could be more open without fear of hurting the boy’s feelings. “I know you wanted to figure out a better way to tell the nurses.”

Shelagh pushed Patrick upright again, tilting his head down as she ran the comb through the hair at the nape of his neck from her perch halfway on the arm of the couch. “I told you, I’m fine. I had worried about how to tell them and now it is done for me. Maybe I should thank Timothy?” she grinned even though she knew he couldn’t see her face. “Maybe he should make all our announcements for us, he is very effective! Now hold still or I’ll never finish checking you over for nits.”

“You didn’t find any in Tim’s hair, I’m sure you won’t find any in mine. You don’t have to worry over this” he mumbled into his chest, finding it harder to talk as Shelagh rotated his head to the side.

“Better safe than sorry with these creatures - they’ve been running rampant all over Poplar. Besides, maybe I just wanted an excuse to try to tame this unruly hair of yours.” Shelagh blushed a bit at her own boldness. What an unexpected turn her life had taken in the last few days. Had she really left the order and accepted a marriage proposal? Yet was it unexpected, she asked herself, looking down at her legs straddling Patrick on his couch, her right wedged into the deep abyss of cushions and her left laying bare at his side, with his fingers trailing lazily up and down its length. She had long yearned for this kind of moment, this kind of intimacy with the man she loved. Shelagh couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment in time when things had changed, but she knew that there had been a moment when her whole life shifted and it led nowhere except this moment. She had taken the step down this path, wherever it might lead, and she was determined to walk it boldly.

Patrick started to retort, his voice still stifled by his position, but it quickly turned to a moan as Shelagh dropped the comb and dug both her hands into his soft black hair. “Shelagh…” he sucked in a breath as her nails traced along his scalp, gently massaging away any worries the day held.

Stopping for a moment, a grumble escaping Patrick’s lips at the loss of her touch, Shelagh shifted him forward to slide down completely behind him, then leaned his head back upon her chest. One hand wrapped itself over his shoulder, resting her arm upon his chest, and the other found its way back to his head, twirling the strands that kept trying to fall into his eyes around her fingers. Patrick closed his eyes, lost in the touch of the woman he loved as she continued to rake her fingers through his hair.

He awoke some time later with Shelagh asleep behind him, the fingers of her right hand still embedded in their place upon his scalp. Her steady, deep breaths reminded him with each rise and fall of her chest that his head was now placed firmly between her breasts, _I could grow used to waking like this_. Patrick picked up the tiny hand upon his chest and kissed each finger gently, easing Shelagh out of her slumber. When she realized she had dozed off, Shelagh tried to scramble off the couch, but Patrick kept her pinned down under his weight. “There’s no point, dear, you’re long past curfew at the boarding house.”

She glanced at the clock and gasped at the sight. 2am. No, she definitely wasn’t making it back to her lodgings tonight. Her earlier desire for boldness began to disappear as her sense of propriety invaded, wondering what the neighbors would think if they saw her leaving in the morning wearing the same dress she had arrived in and what the landlady would say about her overnight absence.

Feeling her tense beneath him, _God does she know what her hips are doing to me_ , Patrick tried to ease her mind, “Please don’t be worried, I’m glad you’re still here and we don’t need to worry what anyone else might say.”

Shelagh let out a sigh of resignation, “I suppose there’s nothing to be done about it now, but could you let me sit up, please? I think my leg has gone numb in these cushions!”

Patrick sat up and pulled her tiny frame into his lap, realizing a moment too late that such a move might have been a mistake. Not only had her skirt shifted upward in the maneuver, leaving only the fabric of her knickers as a barrier between herself and his trousers, but he had also placed her directly on top of the unmistakable evidence of his arousal. They had only shared a few chaste kisses up to this point and now he had pushed her too far too fast, worry creasing his brow as he feared that it was too much, that she would run away and never return. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Patrick tried to stammer out an apology, but he found it hard to think straight at the feeling of her bottom pressed firmly into his hardening length.

Shelagh cupped his face with her hands, pulling him into a soft kiss, her boldness returning with a vengeance at the feel of him as a heat began to coil deep in her belly. “I know” she whispered huskily, smiling at him before pulling him into another kiss, daring to run her tongue along the seam of his lips, reassuring him that she was not going anywhere.

A low groan escaped Patrick as he thrust his tongue forward to meet hers, a newfound passion flaring up between them as the clash of tongues and teeth continued until the need for air forced them apart. He pressed their foreheads together, trying to will himself to calm, to return his breathing to normal. “Shelagh,” his voice shaky but determined to continue, he needed to know her boundaries, “I love you, and I think you can tell-” the words dropped to a whisper, almost inaudible even in the silence of the flat, “I want you, God do I want you, but I will not push beyond what you want.”

Her gaze fluttered up to meet his and the sight of her eyes dark with desire caused the breath to catch in his throat. She kissed him gently on the lips as she began to unbutton his shirt, “I love you too,” placing another gentle kiss upon his cheek and undoing another button, “and I hope that,” a kiss upon his jawline accompanied the next button, “you can tell,” his shirt was completely open now and a kiss was placed just behind his ear before she whispered into it, her warm breath setting his blood on fire, “I want you too.”

Patrick’s breathing grew shallow, heart racing faster with each kiss she gave to him, but he wanted to be certain he knew exactly how far she wanted to go. Placing his hands on her shoulders and pushing her back to look her directly in the eyes again he asked, “are you sure about this?”

“I’m not a nun anymore, Patrick, and we’ll be wed soon,” her voice became filled with need, as desire for this man she loved overcame her, “please.”

She didn’t have to ask him twice. Shelagh yanked his vest over his head as he tossed the unbuttoned shirt behind the couch and she began peppering kisses over his chest and shoulders. Patrick hummed in enjoyment as his hand slowly snaked its way up her thigh and under the elastic of her knickers before grasping her arse firmly, Shelagh yelped in surprise before quickly remembering the need to be quiet for Timothy’s sake and clamping her mouth shut. She couldn’t suppress the moans, however, that came when his hand moved around the front of her thigh and his fingers found their way to caress her center.

But Patrick couldn’t touch her properly in this position, and, with one more glance to make sure she was comfortable with the lightning speed progression of their physical relationship, he laid her back on the couch. Shelagh’s breathing became erratic as his hand kneaded her breasts beneath the fabric of her jumper, practically growling her appreciation into his lips as their tongues found each other once more.

Then, in one fluid movement, Patrick pushed her skirt above her hips and pulled off her knickers. With a nod of her head, he guided himself into her. He swallowed her resulting outcry with a passionate kiss, hoping to God that they didn’t wake Timothy but not wanting to stop hearing her whines of pleasure, knowing that he alone was the source of them. By instinct, her hips began to match the rhythm of his, thrusting up and down in a mad dance of ecstasy until she broke beneath him. Patrick knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life memorizing the sights and sounds of her. The thought of it overcame him and he could hold back no more.

As their breathing began to calm, Patrick lay himself down, pulling her on top of him, and he gently kissed the crown of her head. “Are you alright, Shelagh? I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

She buried her face into the tight muscles of his chest, “Wonderful,” she sighed, “but I’m afraid I might be missing curfew again tomorrow night too.”


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: No, this isn't strictly the Turners, but I have a lot of head canon about these two, so I wrote up a little drabble that has nowhere else to go :)**

Sister Bernadette stood quietly, her mind quickly processing the information that had just come spilling out of her colleague - Chummy was finally fulfilling her dream of becoming a missionary to Africa. It was not that she was surprised by the news, after all, Chummy had mentioned her dreams of mission work many times since she arrived at Nonnatus House, much to Sister Evangelina's chagrin. No, the news itself was not surprising, but the timing did seem rather sudden. As Nurses Lee and Franklin and Sister Evangelina made their feelings known on the revelation, Sister Bernadette remained attentive, but silent, mind whirling quickly. First and foremost, she needed to reassign all of Nurse Noakes' patients among the rest of them, it would be difficult to squeeze them into already full rota, but they would manage as they had always done.

But she was also acutely aware of how much she would miss Chummy. While friendly with all the nursing staff, Sister Bernadette certainly felt closest to Nurse Noakes - though vastly different in stature, they were remarkably similar in so many ways, and had enjoyed conversations about God and His callings in life while waiting for the phone to ring in an evening. Hours of extra study had drawn the pair together, Sister Bernadette was delighted with how well Nurse Noakes had excelled in her midwifery as she became more comfortable on her own, and though not strictly proper for a nun, felt a sense of pride in her pupil.

And underneath it all was that small, almost nagging voice yet again. Chummy had said something - this was the hardest decision she'd made in her life but God wanted her there. And the voice crept up in her mind again, questioning, wondering, where was it that God _really_ wanted her? Where is Sister Bernadette's place? Is it really here, in the religious order as Sister Bernadette, or was there more out there for her? She had a glimpse of friendship outside of the order with Chummy, was witnessing another way to serve God. She pushed the voice aside again - she would deal with that later in prayer. There was too much to focus on now. She awkwardly realised she had been silent through the entire conversation, Sister Evangelina already having left in a huff, and now the others were giving tearful hugs and promises before they left on their rounds.

Soon, she was alone in the room with her friend, but still quite unsure of what to say. "Nurse Lee is right, you know, Sister Evangelina only behaves that way because she cares so deeply." Chummy sent her a doubtful look and Sister Bernadette was afraid the strange silence would last forever.

"Are you - are you frightfully disappointed in me then?" Chummy's voice sounded almost small, if that were possible.

Sister Bernadette was taken aback, she certainly did not want to give that impression - far from it! "Nothing could be further from the truth! I'm sorry, it is all just so very sudden, as you said." Stepping around the table that stood between them, she pulled her friend into a warm embrace. "You are doing God's work and that could never be disappointing. You'll see, it will all be _tickety boo_."

Both Chummy and Sister Bernadette couldn't suppress a giggle at how strange the phrase sounded coming out of the Scottish woman's lips. "Thank you for everything, Sister-" the ringing of the phone cut off any further conversation, they each had much to do.

That night, Sister Bernadette spent her time in prayer for Chummy and her mission - her own questions could wait for another day.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **A/N - this bit of silliness was born out of a Tumblr pic and a (probably not serious, but you can't tell me anything) suggestion that someone fic it about Turnadette. I have no shame, so here we are**

Patrick couldn’t hold back a smile, he never could seem to anymore when he was on his way home from a long day of work - and why should he? he had not been this happy for some time. Shelagh was finally his wife, Timothy had recovered from polio, and they had a beautiful baby girl to love and cherish and spoil. Life was perfect, he thought, taking a deep breath and inhaling the scent of Shelagh’s cooking as he opened the door to their flat. _Their_ flat. Would he ever get used to that? He hoped not.  
Shelagh grinned instinctively as she heard the knob turn and front door open. She couldn’t help it, God had given her everything she never knew she wanted - her life felt perfect. She finally felt that she had found her place and was comfortable in her life with Patrick, Timothy, and Angela. Gone were the days of nervousness, wondering if she were doing things right, if she was following all the unwritten rules she didn’t even know. Now she was simply Shelagh Turner and nothing could be better.  
“Mmmmmm, something smells delicious!” Patrick said as he entered the kitchen, stepping behind his wife, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her close as he examined the contents of the cookery on the range.  
Shelagh leaned back into his embrace. “It’s almost ready” she said, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before adding, “Welcome home, dear.”  
“A wonderful welcome indeed” Patrick grinned as he gave her a proper kiss, then leaned over and in a flash, dipped his finger in the potatoes and popped it in his mouth with a wink. “Just a taste dear, it smells so good.”  
“Patrick Turner!” Shelagh whisper-screamed as she pushed him out of the kitchen, trying desperately to convey her anger without waking Angela from her nap, “you can stay out until it’s finished if you’re intent upon ruining my dinner!”

 

The second time Patrick tried to sneak a bite of the meal before it was fully fixed, Shelagh was a little more prepared. It was another evening, about a week later, only this time when he reached his hand out during their kiss, Shelagh deftly reached out and batted it away, much to Patrick’s surprise.  
“You’re learning quick, love,” he smirked, then picked her up by the waist, spun her around, and helped himself to a couple of carrots before Shelagh pushed him aside with a playful smack.  
“You’re going to regret beginning this with me, Patrick Turner!” she vowed with a gleam in her eye.

 

It was, in fact, that look that she’d had on her face that had Patrick a little worried to try it again too soon. While he enjoyed teasing his wife, he thought perhaps it might be best to make her think she’d won - at least for a little while. But then he came home and smelled it - bangers. How could he resist that? Fried, delicious, mouth-watering sausage.  
“Good evening, dear, how was your day?” he asked innocently as he sauntered into the kitchen.  
“Don’t even think about it, Patrick” she said, without even looking back at him.  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, dear!” he inwardly cursed that he clearly wasn’t going to be able to take her by surprise, but was determined to press forward anyway, and took another step closer, attempting to formulate a plan.  
“I mean it! We have company tonight and I will not have my dinner ruined by your fingers poking where they don’t belong!” Shelagh pointed a spoon at him with her left hand, her right fingering something in the pocket of her apron.  
Throwing caution to the wind, Patrick reached his hand out and was just hovered over the dish when he felt a sharp jab on the side of his hip. “Ow! What on earth?!?” he cried, looking down at Shelagh.  
“I told you, I will not have my dinner ruined!” She held up a hat pin, long and thin and sharp, and put it right in front of his face, using the threat of it to back him out of the room. “If you try it again, Doctor,” she remarked with a mischievous grin, “it will go in your gluteus maximus!” And she gently placed the hat pin upon the counter beside the range, where it remained throughout their happily ever after.


End file.
